


The West is all that You Have

by raewrite



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-03 07:42:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17279885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raewrite/pseuds/raewrite
Summary: Three-part series establishing an AU in which Arthur gets a happy ending instead of TB, because I feel like we all need that in our lives.Arthur, the Marstons and yourself manage to escape Beaver Hollow, albeit not entirely unscathed. The Van der Linde gang has parted for good, leaving you and your patchwork family to scrape together a new life for yourselves.





	1. Chapter 1

Like _hell_ you were gonna let Micah make off with that money.

Sadie, Abigail, and yourself had made it a few miles out from Beaver Hollow by now, having put some distance between yourselves and whatever hell was about to break loose back at camp. You had been deadly quiet for the better part of the ride south, letting Sadie take the lead. You knew there was no going back to the way things used to be, and every part of you burned with an undeniable rage that made you want turn back, go find Arthur, and kill that rat bastard Micah yourself. But a voice in your head told you to keep the other women safe; a voice that sounded an awful lot like Arthur’s. A sneer spread across your face as you warred silently with yourself.

Another few minutes of riding found the three of you coming down a hill to a crossroads where Sadie slowed up to check the signs. You halted your horse behind her, your grip tightening around the reins.

“Sadie,” you called just as she was pulling her horse into the turn. She glanced over her shoulder at you inquisitively, with Abigail turning to look as well. Her eyes were puffy and red, causing you to waver.

“Y/n, c’mon. We’ve still got a ways to go,” Sadie implored, and you knew from the tone of her voice that _she knew_ what you were thinking.

“I gotta go.” You tried to be firm, deciding it was best not to look Abigail in the eye as you did so. You knew Sadie would take care of her.

“Hey, don’t go playin’ the hero now. You heard Arthur.”

“I gotta…” You looked down at your hands as you tried to steel your resolve. Letting out a sigh, you met Sadie’s eyes. “Keep on ’til you get to Copperhead, like Arthur said. I’m going back.”

“Y/n…” It was Abigail now, her voice hoarse. You did your best to look apologetic as you met her eyes, pulling your horse up alongside Sadie’s so that you could reach out to her.

“It’s all gonna be okay,” you tried to soothe, taking her hand in yours. “It’s gonna be okay, but right now that little boy _needs_ you. He needs you and that’s your business to attend to. I’ve got some business of my own.” You squeezed her hand. “I have to go.”

Abigail nodded once, fresh tears welling up in her eyes as she looked down at your hands. You patted hers gently and looked to Sadie.

“Now, both of you get on out of here,” you finally said, though you couldn’t hide the little crack in your voice. Pulling back, you straightened up in your saddle. Sadie gave you a look akin to understanding, readjusting the reins in her hands.

“You stay safe, honey,” she said, catching you a bit by surprise with the gentleness of her tone. All you could do was nod.

Without another word, you steered your horse back in the direction of the camp, only daring to look back over your shoulder once you had topped the hill. Sadie was tugging at the reins with Abigail’s arm around her waist now, and you caught Abigail’s gaze one last time. You bowed your head to her before turning back in your saddle and urging your horse onward.

Galloping through the thick woodlands, you couldn’t help but notice the echoing voice in your head. Whispers of what sounded like old Reverend Swanson murmuring something about the shadow of death and fearing no evil. You were never sure what to make of Swanson or his afflictions, but now, as you barreled headlong towards whatever awaited you in that cave, you felt the same cold comfort you felt back in Colter whenever he would read to you and the others. It was enough, whatever it was, and you felt a burst of assurance bloom in your chest as you rode ever northwards.

* * *

 

It was dark by the time you reached Beaver Hollow, the moonlight catching eerily in the trees as you slowed your horse to a trot. From the edge of the clearing, you could see flames eating away at two of the wagons, casting a sinister red glow over the mouth of the cave. You pulled off into the trees and hitched your horse there, glancing around for any signs of life as you did so. You took your saddlebags and hefted them over your shoulder.

Carefully, with revolver in hand, you edged into the camp itself, skirting along your left-hand side by the smoldering wreck of Arthur’s wagon. Glancing under the half-fallen tarp, your heart sank when you saw the charred remains of most of his belongings. The photographs had been reduced to ash, with only the nails that pinned them to the wagon’s paneling remaining. His old horseshoe still hung in place, though it was likely too hot to pick up at the moment. The glint of firelight off glass caught your eye and you noticed the little jar Arthur kept on his bedside table. You snatched it up, rubbing away a bit of soot. Inside, the little flower he preserved still sat, unaffected by the turmoil around it. You gave a triumphant little hum as you tucked it away safely in your saddle bag.

Stepping cautiously back into the clearing, you looked around for a sign that anyone was there, squinting into the darkness of the surrounding woods.

_Where the hell was everyone?_

You made your way slowly towards Dutch’s tent, your heartbeat pounding in your ears as you gazed down into the cave. It was like the mouth of hell itself opening before you, and you looked over your shoulder one last time before descending into the gloom.

Remembering what Abigail had said about Dutch’s stash, you wound your way towards the back of the cavern, your eyes flitting nervously between the shadowy corners and the half-rotted crates around you. You had seen no sign of _any_ of the gang members thus far, and you began to truly fear the worst. The family was parted for good, you knew that much, and nothing could go back to the way it used to be, but you still hoped and prayed that at least some of them made it out without getting tangled with Micah and the Pinkertons. If nothing else, you prayed that Arthur was alright.

When you found the wagon Abigail must have been talking about, you glanced around the cavern walls one more time for any signs of danger, though it only made you more uneasy when you found nothing. Hesitantly, you began moving boxes away from the side of the wagon, trying not to make too much noise as you did so. The chest was something you had only seen on rare occasions, for Dutch always seemed to hide it quickly and well whenever the gang had to move. But now you dragged it unceremoniously into the dim torchlight, taking the hunting knife from your belt and jamming it under the lid, just as you had seen Arthur do on countless occasions. The sound of metal on metal made you wish Abigail had given _you_ the key instead of Arthur, as the scraping echoed around you, making the hairs on your neck stand on end. You prayed no one could hear you.

Finally, the lid popped open, and you rested it back gently against the wagon. Inside was a sizable burlap sack, like the ones Pearson used to store grain. Your heart beat rapidly as you grabbed the open end and peered inside.

Money, and lots of it.

A spark of giddiness caught in your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in weeks, you felt like things were truly going to be alright, despite everything.

Under better circumstances, you would have taken the time to count out what you were loading into your saddlebags, but right now you would be glad to have whatever you could carry. Part of you hoped that by only taking some of the money and leaving the rest where you found it, it would be less obvious that anyone had come for it at all, and you, Arthur, and the others could be long gone by the time anyone noticed. Your plan would have to suffice; there was no time for anything better.

Replacing the sack in the chest and pushing it back under the wagon, you tried to make the scene look as untouched as possible. With that done, you began to make your way back up out of the cavern.

The feeling of excitement that you had felt was quickly overtaken by weariness once more, as a shiver ran down your spine when you neared the mouth of the cave. The fires still roared angrily over the wagons, jumping from one source of fuel to another. Passing by Dutch’s tent, you heard your horse whinny from across the way, her hooves stamping into the dirt in agitation.

Shadows cast from the fires jumped around you ceaselessly, making you whip your head about at every sign of movement as you stepped cautiously into the clearing. The smoke was getting thick now, with the hill shielding it from any wind that would otherwise carry it off through the trees, and your eyes began to water. You pulled the collar of your shirt up over your nose.

Coming up beside your horse, you stroked her neck and hushed her before hefting the bags on your shoulder back up behind your saddle. Another distressed snort sounded from your horse, her ears flicking back and forth as she stamped at the ground. You stepped back a pace, splaying your hands down by your hips as if to show her some kind of surrender.

“Hey now, girl,” you spoke gently, making sure you were in her line of sight. “Easy now, easy. We gotta—”

Something big and heavy slammed into you then, throwing you off your feet and sending you sprawling into the dirt. You sputtered as you tried to regain the air that had been knocked from your lungs, scrambling to get up and grab your gun as you did so. But then that weight was back, pinning you down with hands on your forearms and a knee pressing down into your stomach.

Micah glared down at you with fire catching in his eyes and a wicked smile spreading across is face.

“I knew _one_ of you would come back for it,” he snarled, his grip tightening around your arms as you tired to throw him off. “ _Robbin’ old Dutch after all he’s done for you._ ”

“ _Micah,_ ” you ground out, bringing your knees up as far as you could. With one good kick to the abdomen, you sent him stumbling back, buying yourself enough time to grab your revolver from your belt.

Lunging right as you aimed, Micah caught you around the waist as you fired, your shot cracking over both your heads. Trying to pull you back down onto the ground, Micah knocked your gun from your hand and lurched to one side, tugging you with him and throwing you down _hard_. You rolled just in time to see the knife he pulled from is belt shining brightly in the firelight.  You tried to regain your footing, stumbling away and putting a few feet between you.

“You _bastard_ , you damned us all,” you spat, grabbing your own knife and glancing around for your gun, which lay a few feet away. Micah came barreling towards you once more, causing you to jump to one side, catching him across the arm with your blade as you did so. He swung back at you quicker than you would have figured, garbling like some kind of feral animal as he did. In trying to dodge, you teetered backwards, which Micah took advantage of by tackling you down, his knife finding its mark in your side.

You grunted at the sudden, sharp pain, panting as your hands went to yank it out on instinct, but Micah’s hold stopped you. With one hand holding the knife in place, he moved his other to your throat. He leaned in as his grip tightened around your neck.

“Shoulda known it’d be _you_ ,” he sneered, grinning down at you. You tried to thrash, but the man above you held firm, the knife plunging a bit further into your side. Your hands went to his wrist, clawing uselessly. “No one’s comin’ to save you, _sweetheart_. Morgan _ran_. John too. Ain’t _no one_ comin’ back for you _._ ”

“ _Rot in hell, Micah,_ ” you wheezed, your voice cracking as the hand closed ever tighter around your throat. Something caught your attention out of the corner of your eye then; a glint of metal just by Micah’s boot.

The edges of your vision were beginning to get hazy now, and you were aware that Micah was saying _something_ , but he sounded distorted, like you were under water. You let your hands fell from around his wrist, your left falling limply between you.

Your eyes slid slowly back to Micah’s face, tipping your chin up as you did so. His lips moved and spittle sprayed from between his teeth, but you weren’t listening anymore. You felt a cold, familiar weight in your hand. Lifting it with whatever strength you had left, you saw something akin to _absolute terror_ cross Micah’s face before he was suddenly thrown from you, his head snapping back with a crack as a gunshot echoed through the clearing.

All was quiet.

You laid there for what could have been minutes or hours, you weren’t really sure. The ringing in your ears slowly melted back into the crackling of the fires around you. A dull pain emanated from your side, and your hand moved sluggishly to grip the knife. Carefully, and ever so slowly, you sat yourself up. Just the thought of looking at the blade buried in your abdomen made you dizzy, but you knew better than to try and pull it out now and risk bleeding out. With one agonizing push, you got yourself to your feet, wheezing painfully. You didn’t even spare Micah a final glance as you dragged yourself past his body and towards your horse, sliding your gun back into its holster.

Pulling yourself up into the saddle was its own form of torture. Reaching around with one hand to check that the saddlebags were secure, you took up the reins and patted the base of your horse’s neck. You grit your teeth as you spurred her into a gallop, holding one hand by the knife as you rode on south through the moonlit night.

You didn’t look back as Beaver Hollow burned behind you.

* * *

 

It was well past midnight by the time Arthur and John made it to the dilapidated shack at Copperhead Landing. Before he could even come to a complete stop, John slid from his saddle and called for Abigail, running up to meet her as she peeked out from the cabin with Tilly and Jack behind her. She stood frozen on the spot, like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing before her. She broke down in sobs when John swept her up in a hug and spun her around.

Sadie was last out of the cabin, smiling as she patted John on the shoulder before going to help Arthur with the horses. But something was off, she noticed, and a knot of worry began to form in the pit of her stomach.

“Arthur, where’s Y/n?” she asked, taking one set of reins from his hands.

Arthur stopped dead, his brows furrowing as he met Sadie’s eyes. “She’s not with you?”

Sadie felt her stomach drop at that. _You hadn’t found Arthur._ A thousand worst possible scenarios began playing out in her mind like a moving picture show.

“She went back to for _you_ ,” she said, frustration evident in her voice. “She said she had to go back.”

“ _‘Course she did,_ ” Arthur ground out under his breath. He shook his head, like he was at a loss for words. He threw his reins back over his horse’s head and made to get back up in the saddle, with Sadie jogging over to her horse to do the same. Arthur had one foot in the stirrup when he heard John call out suddenly.

“Someone’s comin’ up this way!”

Looking over his shoulder, Arthur could make out the shape of a horse and rider coming in through the mist at a slow pace. His hand going to the gun at his side, Arthur stepped out onto the trail, with John coming up beside him.

“Who goes there?”

They received no reply, but the horse continued towards them, coming to a stop just a few yards ahead. Arthur stepped forward cautiously, putting a hand up for John to wait behind him. He had been fully expecting some kind of a trap to spring as he approached. He nearly choked when he realized who it was in the saddle.

“ _Y/n?_ ”

You said nothing. Instead, you began to dismount, turning and throwing one leg sluggishly over the back of your horse to step down. Arthur watched in confusion, which swiftly morphed into panic as your knees buckled as soon as both your feet hit the ground.

Reaching out to catch you, Arthur carefully lowered you to the ground just as Sadie and John came running up, with Abigail close behind. They all seemed to notice the hunting knife buried in your side at the same time. Abigail knelt down by your head as Arthur looked from your face to your side and back again.

“ _Shit._ ”

“Good t’ see you, too,” you wheezed, your voice barely beyond a hoarse whisper.

“We gotta get that knife out,” Abigail said worriedly, brushing some sweat-dampened hair from your face.

Arthur gave a frustrated sigh. “John, help me get ‘er up, take ‘er inside,” he said as he moved to your head. “It ain’t much nicer, but we won’t be operatin’ in the mud.” You gave him a lazy smile, which quickly turned into a grimace as he hefted you up.

Once you were settled down on one of the bed rolls, Abigail went to work. Grabbing a rag from one of the bags, she held it to your mouth.

“You’re gonna want to bite down on this, honey” she said, the sympathetic look she was giving you telling you _exactly_ what was about to come. You didn’t have the energy to protest.

Having grabbed an opened bottle of whiskey from his bag, Arthur settled on the ground beside you, opposite of Abigail.

“When I pull, you pour,” you heard Abigail say. Without much else in the way of warning, the knife was pulled from your flesh in one quick motion. A new wave of sharp pain cut through the fogginess in your mind and you let out a muffled sob into the rag. You watched through tears as Arthur poured out the whiskey and Abigail dabbed at your side with a cloth. You didn’t even realize your hands had balled into fists until you felt Arthur take hold of one. Spitting out the rag, you closed your eyes and let your head fall back as Abigail grabbed a needle from her pack and poured the last of the whiskey over it.

You heard someone shifting, opening your eyes when you felt Arthur lifting your head carefully into his lap.

“Need you t’ stay awake, sweetheart,” he said, his hand falling to your cheek to wipe away a stray tear. You watched with half-lidded eyes as Abigail threaded the needle.

“You wanna tell us what happened?” It was Sadie now, coming to sit next to Arthur as Abigail worked.

Your eyes widened a little as you looked up at Arthur, making him cock an eyebrow at you. You lifted a hand and pointed to the door. “ _Mm_ —My saddle _bags,”_ your voice cracked. Arthur’s hand rested on your shoulder to stop you from moving too much. He looked to Sadie inquisitively.

“John? Would you…?” John nodded, throwing you his own confused look as he went outside. Ducking back into the old cabin a moment later, John stood in the middle of the small room with the bags clutched in his hands, gazing at you in wonderment.

“ _Y/n Y/l/n_.”

“Give it here, John,” Arthur urged, holding out his hand impatiently. Sadie scooted closer to see what you had gotten, with Tilly and Jack coming over to look as well. Arthur lifted the leather flap of the first bag, nearly dropping the thing as he did so.

“ _What in the—”_

“I couldn’t let him have it,” you croaked, gazing up fondly at Arthur’s astonished expression. “Mi- _cah…_ I couldn’t let ‘im…” Arthur hushed you, dropping the saddlebags and taking your face between his hands, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead. You heard Sadie laugh is disbelief as she took the bags into her lap and started to count out the money, with John and Tilly sitting down next to her.

You barely noticed as Abigail finished stitching you up. She grabbed the little roll of bandages she had packed, gently calling for Arthur’s attention long enough to assist her in wrapping them around your waist. He helped you sit up a bit then, letting you rest comfortably against his chest as you listened to Sadie count out the bills under her breath.

You began to nod off after a while, with Sadie’s murmuring and Arthur’s heartbeat mingling into a pleasant low hum that lulled your already exhausted body to sleep. The last thing you felt before dropping off entirely was Arthur’s hand enveloping your own and his stubbly cheek pressing against your temple as he held you close.  


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re gettin’ kinda scruffy, Mister Morgan.”

“Very perceptive of you, Miss Y/l/n.”

You kissed his cheek as you moved around him to grab the percolator from beside your campfire, your hand brushing over the beginnings of the beard that graced Arthur’s tired face. His eyes fluttered shut as he huffed out a little laugh despite himself, letting you remove his hat to comb your fingers through his unkempt hair. Your brows furrowed in mock concentration as you inspected the locks that were just starting to curl at the ends around his ears.

“ _Hmm_ … pretty soon we’re gonna have to start tying this back,” you said as you pushed your hand through the hair at the back of Arthur’s head, knowing full and well that he was enjoying himself as you did so. You pressed another kiss to his jaw before replacing his hat, watching his eyes open slowly to meet yours as you adjusted it on his head. A smile played upon his lips as you leaned away to pour your coffee.

The two of you had been camping out in Hennigan’s Stead for the better part of two weeks now, living rough as you slowly built the cabin that you hoped to call home. It was hard to believe that a little over a month ago you and Arthur had been huddled together in the old dilapidated shack at Copperhead Landing.

Life since then had been hard, but not wholly unpleasant. The Marstons had managed to find themselves a little homestead not too far from Blackwater, while you and Arthur had decided to go further west, where he was less likely to be recognized.

Home building wasn’t an endeavor either of you had much experience with, but that didn’t seem to matter so much so long as you worked together. Of course, Arthur fussed over you, saying that you needed more time to rest after your ordeal with Micah and your flight across the prairie, but you refused to let him do all the hard work.

“I reckon we could get the walls finished today,” you said as you sipped carefully at your steaming coffee. You and Arthur both gazed over at the half-finished structure before you. The place was small — shaping up to be more of a shack than a cabin, but you didn’t mind. It would be more than enough for you to have a roof over your head and a warm bed to sleep in every night. It was certainly more than either of you were used to.

“Maybe. If we work through lunch,” mumbled Arthur. You hummed at his frankness.

“Guess we better get started, huh?”

* * *

 

A small fire crackled in the little wood burning stove that sat in the far corner of the cabin, casting the room in a comfortable warmth. Two lanterns threw a soft orange glow over the space, one on the bedside table, and one on the tiny dining table that you and Arthur now sat at.

Quietly, you ate the stew you had prepared together, the clicking of spoons on tin dishes filling the space between you. It was meant to be a celebration of sorts for finally finishing your new home. It had been quite the day, to be sure, what with Arthur capping off the roof while you arranged what little furniture you had inside. That afternoon, the two of you had stood side by side, admiring your work, before Arthur had scooped you off your feet and carried you across the threshold, nearly dropping you as you both giggled endlessly.

But now a strange silence had settled between you, like you just didn’t know what to do with yourselves. It was an unfamiliar feeling, standing still. Neither of you were sure what to do now that you weren’t huddled together under a tarp that threatened to collapse on you with the next gust of wind.

“Hmm.”

“Hm.”

You and Arthur looked across the table at each other, him cocking his eyebrows at you and you raising yours.

“It’s different.”

“It’s _too…?_ ”

“Still.”

“ _Quiet._ ”

Arthur made a sound deep in his throat, nodding his head a little and setting his spoon down in his bowl. He glanced around the cabin.

“It’s gonna take some getting used to.”

“Mhmm.”

Silence fell again.

Picking up his plate, Arthur stood and strode over to the basin on the other side of the room. He started to hum quietly as you finished off the last few bites of your stew. When you moved to stand, Arthur turned to you, humming a little louder, and you recognized the tune as something Javier used to play on his guitar.

You gave him a little smile as you stepped towards the basin, but you were surprised when he took your dish from your hands and set it back on the table. Taking your hands into his own, Arthur swayed to one side, guiding you with him as he carried the tune. Following his lead, you quickly fell into step with Arthur as he spun you around, moving forwards and back just like you had done in camp what felt like so long ago.

You giggled as he took you by the waist and dipped you backwards, nearly falling on your behind with how much you were laughing now. Arthur laughed too when he stumbled forwards to balance you and pull you upright once more, the firelight catching and sparkling in his green eyes.

Standing back on your own two feet, you pulled Arthur into an embrace, still swaying and causing him to gently rock from foot to foot to match you. You felt the rumble in his chest as he laughed breathily, his chin brushing over the top of your head.

The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes more, quietly rocking with your cheek pressed against Arthur’s chest and your eyes closed.

“It’s not such a bad thing to get used to,” you murmured, lifting your chin to meet Arthur’s gaze.

He smiled down at you then. It was the sort of smile that you had seen him with more and more often as of late; the kind that reached his eyes and softened his features and made him look young and _happy_ again.

“Not in the slightest.”

* * *

 

Your first trip to Blackwater since finishing your cabin found you searching for furnishings to bring back with you. The two of you needed some essentials, like blankets and canned food, but you were hesitantly on the lookout for anything else that caught your eye. Living in one place meant you weren’t limited to the possessions you could fit in your trunk, and you were slowly coming to the realization that a few accessory items for the house couldn’t hurt.

Pulling the wagon up alongside the main street, Arthur hopped down from his seat, mumbling something to you about staying put before jogging around the back to your side. Reaching a hand up to you, Arthur gestured for you to step down. You laughed and let him help you, his hands going around your waist as he lowered you to the ground.

“What, so we go all domestic and now I can’t get myself down from a wagon?” you joked, nudging Arthur in the arm.

“Oh, hush. I’m jus’ tryin’ to make sure you don’t trip over yer own _skirts_ in front of all these people,” he said, smirking as you smoothed down your blouse.

“Very romantic, Mister Morgan.”

Looping your arm around his, you and Arthur started down the sidewalk towards the general store. The clerk was kind enough, and you were thankful when he didn’t ask any questions beyond whether or not you were new in town. You made some idle small-talk with the man about Blackwater as you gathered the boxes and cans onto the counter, sneaking in a couple of chocolate bars to surprise Arthur with while he was distracted with flipping through a catalogue. Once you had gotten what you needed, Arthur took the crate packed with goods up in his arms and started back out towards the wagon.

“You go on ahead and look around some more, I’m gonna drop these off and head down the street for somethin’.” Without giving you any further explanation, nor the time to ask for one, Arthur leaned down to plant a kiss to the side of your head before heading down the street. You watched after him with a confused smirk on your face. He had been acting odd all morning, you had noticed, and he almost seemed _giddy_ about coming into town. There were a lot of words you could think of to describe Arthur Morgan, but _giddy_ wasn’t typically included among them. He was up to something.

Letting it slide for the time being, you walked down the street a little ways, peering into the shop windows as you passed. So many of the things being sold were things that you had _never_ even considered owning. Or buying, for that matter. Just about every “nice” thing you had owned had been found or stolen at some point, and even that wasn’t very much.

Wandering farther still, something familiar caught your eye as you passed a row of windows. Inside, sitting on a display shelf, was a gramophone with a shiny brass horn and a record spinning lazily on its turntable. It looked a bit like the one Dutch had kept in his tent, though this one was brand new by the looks of it. You thought back to the rare evenings spent twirling around camp with Arthur or Mary-Beth or anyone else in high spirits to the crackling drone of Dutch’s records, and a warm feeling rose in your chest at the memory.

An odd sense of determination leapt within you then, and without much need for consideration, you entered the little shop.

* * *

 

Arthur got back to the wagon just as you were securing the gramophone in the back next to the crate of food you had gotten, using the new blankets from the general store to cushion it. He gave you an inquisitive look when you turned to climb into the shotgun seat.

“What? We could afford it,” you stated as Arthur pulled himself up into the seat next to you. “I also got this,” you said, patting the flat, square package you held in your lap. “It wouldn’t be much use without somethin’ to play on it. No idea who it’s by, but it sounded nice in the store.”

Arthur hummed, nodding as he took up the reins, a hint of a smile playing upon his lips. “Well, if it makes ya happy.”

You grinned at him. “Figured it would help things not sound so quiet all the time. Maybe help us settle in.” Arthur nodded again.

You watched his face for a moment as he snapped the reins, urging your horse out into the street. He still had that little smirk on his face, and his eyes practically sparkled from under the brim of his hat. You gave him a little nudge with your elbow.

“What’re you grinnin’ about?” you asked playfully.

He gave you a sideways glance, raising an eyebrow. “No reason,” he said, something like amused wariness overtaking his tone. He nudged you back, bumping you softly in the shoulder before returning his eyes to the road. You eyed him suspiciously.

“Uh-huh.”

“Hm?”

“You’re hidin’ something, Arthur.”

“From you? Darlin’, there ain’t nothin’ I could hide from you.”

You could hear the mischief in his voice now, but you knew that whatever he was keeping from you wasn’t going to come to light by you nagging him. With an exaggerated huff, you settled back into the spring seat, your arm resting comfortably against Arthur’s.

“Whatever you say, darling.”


End file.
